


The Words

by a_frayed_edge



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_frayed_edge/pseuds/a_frayed_edge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It felt pure is what he tells Sam later, and the words feel true in the way so few words do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Words

_It felt pure_ is what he tells Sam later, and the words feel true in the way so few words do.

 

He likes Benny well enough, but the trek across endless miles of dirt and monsters would be enough to drive anyone crazy and Dean thinks that he kind of started out that way anyway. He prays to Cas, words that sound pathetic to his own ears, promises of devotion he wonders if he was ever able to offer before. He says he's going to find him, that Cas needs to _just hold on man, I'm coming, I swear._ He doesn't even consider the possibility that there is no longer someone to hear them, because he's pretty sure it would be enough to kill him. It says a lot that Benny, with his razor-sharp teeth, isn't brave enough to broach the subject more than once.

 

Dreaming in Purgatory isn't the same as dreaming in the regular world, and the terrors that find him in the minutes that he sleeps are enough to send him jerking awake again, sweat pouring down his throat, and he breathes a silent prayer of relief that his new friend simply raises his eyebrows and doesn't comment. Sometimes it's Sam, drowning in a pool of his own blood, sometimes it's Cas, torn apart by darkness and shadows. Sometimes it's himself, fragile with age, still searching for a friend that is probably long gone. And sometimes it's enough to keep him awake for days straight, terrified to even blink.

 

 _It felt pure_ is what he tells Sam later, and the joy that had exploded in his stomach at the sight of the long trench coat had felt like a tangible thing, something he could pull out and examine at his leisure. As real as when Sammy graduated high school, when his father handed him the keys to the Impala. It felt as real as it did the time before, in a woman named Daphne's living room, as he stared into clear blue eyes and tried to think of an answer to Emmanuel's question: _What's your issue,_ indeed.

 

Later that night he uses his coat as a pillow and it's kind of nice, he muses, when Cas settles onto the ground beside him. He's not sure how long they don't talk, how long he lays there listening for the sound of predators. Benny's gone to scout ahead, but he'd be an idiot if he believed that excuse, and he makes a mental note to thank him later.

 

“I'm sorry you were worried,” Cas says eventually, and Dean doesn't bother hiding a snort of derision.

 

“Dude, if I never hear you say that again it will be too soon.” Then, because maybe that came out a little harsh, and he _just_ got the guy back, for fuck's sake, he adds, softer, gentler, “I'm just glad you're okay. Okay?”

 

Cas nods - at least, Dean thinks he does, because he's kind of too humiliated to look over. Regardless, the air feels clearer between the two of them than it has in a while, and the silence is comfortable, so comfortable that when Cas speaks again, Dean's on the edge of sleep. “I would not have left you,” is what he says, and the words sharpen Dean's mind immediately. He glances at Cas, back propped up against a tree trunk, hair all askew, and for a second Dean thinks that the guy looks like any other human being, thinks, for a moment, that he could probably trip the portal on his own. But the eons of age in the set of his shoulders, in the lines of his face, tell another story completely.

 

“You asked me, once, if I would have abandoned you here,” he prompts, and Dean blinks to try to focus. He has no memory of it, but that doesn't mean anything, he's well aware. What he remembers most clearly is the beginning of each prayer:  _Cas, can you hear me?  I_ _t's day 39 and I haven't found you yet. It's day 98 and I'm still looking. It's day 265 and I know that lead didn't pan out, but I'm not giving up, Cas, I'm not._ “Dean, I would not have left you behind.”

 

'I know that,' is what he means to say but what comes out ( _It felt pure_ is what he tells Sam later) is, “We had just made up.”

 

Cas makes a noise of agreement. “Yes, but you're my best friend. My closest family.” He sighs, looks into the distance, but he doesn't look sad, so much as contemplative. “My everything, sometimes.” It seems weird to know that if they were not in Purgatory, Cas' admission would have made him uncomfortable. Here, now, it almost seems like it would be pointless to even argue. Like, of course that would be the case. A flicker of something, sadness maybe, or guilt, flickers quickly over Cas' face before he continues. “You don't deserve to be here, Dean. You should be alive. Happy.”

 

Dean opens his mouth, driven to say _something_ and he's not sure where it comes from but suddenly he's blurting out, “Do you think we'll make it,” like he's a child.

 

The corners of Cas' mouth twitch up and he shifts his eyes to study Dean in a way that is so familiar that his stomach clenches painfully and he wonders how he even made it this past year, thinking Cas was dead. The drinking, the nightmares had been enough to call Ellen from the grave, and there are times when he closes his eyes that he watches himself demand that Death _kill him now_ and –

 

“Yes, Dean,” Cas answers, pulling Dean from his thoughts, reigning him in.  “I think that anyone who would bet against a reunion between you and your brother would be foolish and in need of serious self-reflection.”

 

“I’m so glad I found you.”  More whisperings finding voice without his permission, but he can’t regret it because they’re ( _It felt pure_ is what he tells Sam later) real and true like everything else never is and suddenly, gloriously is.  Cas scoot closer, Dean feels the gentle press of his thigh into his own shoulder.  Warmth – all over, driving Purgatory away.  “But you could have made it easier, you know.”

 

Cas doesn’t argue, an admission that he determinedly ignores because instinct warns him that investigating it is a bad idea, that the answer would frighten him.  He wants to believe that it’s because they’re on new footing, trying to regain something they thought was lost, but Purgatory doesn’t allow for denial and self-assurance.  At his core he senses there are bigger issues here.

 

It’s not fair, he thinks, but he doesn’t say because that’s just not his way.  Everything with Cas is always issues and problems and hostility and have they ever just been at peace with one another?  It must be wrong that this is as close as they’ve ever gotten but it doesn’t feel that way when it’s quiet and there’s a renewed sense of mission that Cas’ presence always brings. 

 

A memory drifts in and his lips twist in response.  “Hey, Cas?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Did you know that Sam always wanted to go to Disneyland?”  He pauses.  “You do know what Disney is, right?  It’d be a lot easier to explain if we were topside.”

 

Cas smiles, and if it’s a little ruefully, well, who can blame him?  “Yes, I know what Disney is.  Sam wanted to visit Disney _land_?”

 

“Yeah.  What would you think about going?  You know, when we get home?”  He holds his breath, studies Cas as he goes still.  He ticks his eyes over to Dean, and they stare at each other as the question hangs in the air.

 

It’s Cas who relents first, turning away to examine his hands.  “I would like that,” he finally says, and Dean feels relief that has depths that he pretends he doesn’t understand. 

 

He grins, nudges Cas with his side.  “You know we’d have to buy you mouse ears, Cas.  I heard they have all different kinds.”

 

Cas glares back, and then it’s _them,_ Dean-and-Cas and there’s fondness in the way Cas says firmly, “I’m an angel of the Lord.  I do not wear mouse ears.”

 

“Cas!”  He aims for outrage and probably falls flat but who the fuck even cares?  They’re both grinning and that’s what counts.  “It’s practically a requirement.”

 

Something serious finds home in Cas’ eyes and Dean’s being recognizes it for what it is: resignation.  “Then I suppose I can’t go.”

 

Dean wants to scream and shout and claw at Cas until he doesn’t look like that anymore, until there’s something about the future for his best friend to be excited about.  He isn’t aware he’s sitting up until his hands are resting heavily on Cas’ shoulders and he’s digging his fingers into the forgiving skin.  ‘Talk to me,’ he tries to say, but nothing comes out at all and he just lets his forehead fall forward to rest against Cas’, hopes it gets the message across. 

 

 _Some_ message does get across, because Cas lets out a broken sound that echoes like a foghorn, like a gunshot in Dean’s mind, and they shift at the same time, until their mouths slot together.

 

It’s almost innocent, just the touch of skin connecting them together, barely a kiss at all, but Dean’s body buzzes from the contact long after they pull apart.  It heats him, revives him.  They say nothing because what can they say, but by the time Benny returns, Dean’s dreaming of home.


End file.
